Page 3 of Falling for the Bombshell (Falling for #1)
Captain Cravings and Kitchen Confessions
The smell of cinnamon rolls hits me before I even open my eyes. Not the kind from a tube—real ones. Summer only bakes when something big happens. Promotions. Holidays. Bobcat wins. Or apparently, Bombshell captains.
I shuffle out of bed with Ember snuggled under one arm like a hot water bottle. She ’ s not a morning dog unless sugar is involved.
Downstairs, Jade ’ s already perched on a stool at the counter, one hand wrapped around a coffee mug the size of a cereal bowl, her bun lopsided and eyeliner still smudged from yesterday.
“ You ’ re late,” she says with a grin. “ Mom ’ s making rolls and emotional speeches.
” I laugh, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. “ Sounds about right. ”
Summer turns at the stove, beaming. “ There she is. My girl.” She sets a pan of warm cinnamon rolls on a trivet and opens her arms like a welcome mat.
I melt into the hug. It ’ s the kind that ’ s part blanket, part recharge station.
“ You didn ’ t have to do all this.” “ Yes, I did,” she says, pulling back to look at me.
“ Because you did it, Lin. You earned that spot. You led with grit and grace—and every judge in that room saw it.” Jade snorts.
“ You also nearly kicked me in the face during the third number.” “ Occupational hazard,” I say, grabbing a cinnamon roll and licking icing off my fingers.
We settle in at the kitchen table, plates full of eggs, fruit, and Summer ’ s famous sweet rolls.
The sun pours through the windows like we paid extra for good lighting.
Ember circles underfoot, her little tail wagging like a metronome.
“ Okay,” Jade says, “ now that you ’ re captain and basically the Beyoncé of Billings, what ’ s next? ”
I chew slowly, savoring the moment. “ Honestly? I want to set the tone right away. Make it clear I ’ m not just a title. I want every girl to feel like they matter.” Summer nods. “ That ’ s what good leaders do. Not just perform—but uplift.”
Jade taps her fork against her plate. “ We could do a team brunch. Chill vibes, no pressure. Icebreakers, playlists, vision boards.”
I raise a brow. “ Vision boards?”
“ What? Glitter ’ s motivational.”
Summer sips her coffee, hiding a smile. “ Don ’ t knock it until you ’ ve mod-podged it.
” We laugh until our stomachs hurt. For the first time in a while, I feel weightless.
Not because the pressure ’ s gone—but because I know I can carry it.
I have them—my built-in pit crew, creative team, and emotional support squad.
After breakfast, we linger in the kitchen, swapping stories from the week. Jade teases me about the time I forgot an entire 8-count. Summer pretends she didn ’ t cry in the supply closet after the results went up. And I soak it all in.
For a second, I forget about the noise in my head. The doubt. The pressure. The whispers of “ you only got it because your mom ’ s the coach.” Because here, at this table, I ’ m not the coach ’ s daughter.
I ’ m just Linnie.
Loved. Seen. And finally—finally—believing I belong.